


In Service

by fishmoon



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Background Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian - Freeform, Gen, Kink Meme, Service Animals, and aliens and dogs, background shakarian, no really turians and dogs, turians and dogs, without kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 12:45:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5585917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishmoon/pseuds/fishmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long time ago, someone on the Mass Effect KinkMeme asked for aliens meeting Man's Best Friend, aka the humble canine. I wrote a few replies to this, tossed it up there, and promptly forgot about it until I was cleaning out my old files.</p>
<p>Chapter 1: Service Dog "Shepard" and James Vega<br/>Chapter 2: Post-War Service Dogs and aliens<br/>Chapter 3+: Puppy meets C-SEC. Turians would make extremely good dog owners; any being can contribute to the Hierarchy, and all things need jobs. Thus, Search and Rescue Puppy is born!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Service Dog Shepard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nagia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagia/gifts).



> The original prompt was this:
> 
>  
> 
> _We never see any evidence of pet species, apart from fish, in Mass Effect._
> 
>  
> 
> _There are the Varren, but they're not so much 'domesticated pets' as 'wild predators we keep around'._
> 
>  
> 
> _So I would like to see some aliens reacting to dogs, the only being in the universe which loves you more than it loves itself. Our age old companions which we have created through a centuries old genetic engineering project, sculpting all the different breeds to fill various roles._
> 
>  
> 
> _Maybe an alien neighbor to a human who just moved in and their dog, or perhaps some C-Sec Turians being introduced to the concept, and usefulness, of a police dog when humans first really join the force._

James Vega was sprawled out on one of the benches in Docking Bay 23, cards pointed floor-wards while he narrowed his eyes at his batarian opponent. “Raise, or fold. Y’got ten seconds.”

 

The batarian grunted, leaning forward to toss his cards onto the low table. “You aren’t cheating, I know, but the gods seem to favor you today, two-eye,” he grumbled, shoving the packaged filters over. Credits were all and good, but parts for a still? Better.

 

Vega linked his fingers together and stretched, muscles popping in his casual show. “Pure skill.” He sorted through the pile of stuff alongside the filters, pausing when he got to what seemed to be a package of … dog treats?

 

“‘ey, four-eyes, what’s with this?”

 

“Human food. Pfeh.” The batarian spat to one side as he got to his feet, and before Vega could decide whether to explain or not, he’d vanished into the crowd. The bag was partly open -- apparently the batarian’d tried some of the treats.

 

With a shrug, Vega shoved the package into a cargo-pant pocket and headed back towards the Normandy. The refugee quarters were getting even more cramped, with shipping containers building up towards the ceilings, each a home of sorts for more beings than Vega’d seen in one place since visiting distant family in Los Reyes.

 

* * *

  


“What--!” “Where’s it GOING?!” “IT’S LOOSE!” “What is that, a varren?!”

 

Huerta Memorial might be an organized oasis in the chaos of the Citadel these days, but most of the others were in a state of barely-contained chaos. Add a dog racing through the doors, clearly looking for something or someone, add a bunch of aliens whose idea of pets were mostly fish and little lizards, and you had a recipe for chaos.

 

Vega hefted the five-year-old girl higher onto his shoulder, to her shrieking glee. “ _Mija_ , do you see the puppy? Does anyone here have a puppy?”

 

She pointed at the dog and clapped her hands, replying in that mixture of Spanish and Basic that’d confounded translators until Vega’d gotten wind of it. “Yeah! Yeah! Irene said, she said, ehh, her _hermano_ Jaime -- he has a dog! Because he-” She tilted her head, looking up at the ceiling in an effort to remember. “-has see-jurs?”

 

The dog was pawing frantically at one of the hospital doors, but the lock was red-coded. “ _Vale_ , _mija_ , I’m gonna go find out what’s goin’ on. You stay here and draw me a picture, yeah?”

 

The dog glanced up as he approached, but only continued to try to paw the door open, whining quietly. Vega considered it for a moment -- the brown-and-black fur was flattened over the shoulders and back, like it was missing a harness -- before keying the door open. The dog wasted no time, bolting for one bed, where a big-eyed human boy lay, IV in one arm, eyes half-open.

 

The salarian doctor took a step back. “That animal does not belong in a hospital!” he protested, waving a datapad.

 

“Hey, doc, hang on. Pretty sure that’s the kid’s service dog.”

 

“... service dog?” The dog had paused by the bed, putting its paws on the edge without jumping fully up, and was sniffing carefully at the boy. It snorted, then sat down with the clear air of someone settling in to wait. The salarian eyed it warily, then glanced at the datapad. “Jaime Beruete, age 10. Seizure disorder.”

 

See-jurs. “Ahh, yeah, that’d explain it, Doc. Look, humans’ve had dogs for thousands of years. One of the first animals we domesticated, actually. That one-” He pointed at the dog. “-is probably trained to detect the kid’s seizures and help him through ‘em.” He cast about for a good explanation. Dogs and humans. They went together. “Fairly rare now’days, but for a kid, a dog’s less scary than having to wear a monitor all the time. Better company, too.”

 

Jaime was stirring on the bed, eyes focusing again. The dog’s ears pricked up, and it rested its paws on the edge of the bed to sniff at the boy again, before swiping his face with a long tongue. The boy giggled weakly. “‘m’okay, Shep.”

 

The salarian’d started to say something, but stopped, peering at the readouts on the datapad. “Postictal state ending faster than expected. Hmm, interesting stimulus.”

 

Vega, on the other hand, had to bite back a laugh. He approached the bed. “Your dog’s name is ‘Shepard’?” he asked, settling into the chair. He offered the dog a hand and received a cursory sniff and a look that screamed ‘I’m _working_ ’ from the dog.

 

“Yeah,” Jaime said, looking a little dazed still. The dog wormed its head under the boy’s hand. “Because she’s a shepherd? Also ‘cause of Commander Shepard, a little.”

 

“How’d you two get separated?”

 

Jaime focused a little more. “The processing people. They said she had to be in a crate all the time? And if… if-” He frowned. The dog - Shep, and wasn’t Lola going to snort when she heard that one - nosed the boy’s hand. “-’if your son needs assistance, a mech is a far cleaner and more helpful aid than an animal.’” He had the air of someone reciting something from memory.

 

“Explains why you wound up here, eh?” Vega asked, giving the kid an easy sort of grin. “I think your doc there’s rethinking the whole no-animals thing. She’s a smart dog, your Shep. Found you all the way in here.”

 

That earned him an urchin grin, and Shep-the-dog an ear-scratch that made her tongue loll out one side of her mouth in a doggy grin to match. “Yeah,” Jaime said shyly, hunching down in his bed. He turned his head slightly to focus on the salarian, who’d been edging nearer to listen to the conversation, and was eyeing the dog curiously. “You can pet her, Doctor Mikon. Go see, Shep.”

 

The dog settled back to the floor, looking over at the salarian before padding over and sitting, tail thumping against the floor. Vega ambled after her, crouching down and putting one hand on Shep’s head and giving her ears a scratch. “Here, doc. Dogs work mostly by smell, so let her sniff you first, then you can pet her.”

 

“What is their intelligence level? Are they sapient?” the doctor asked, carefully putting his hand down to let Shep sniff.

 

“They’re pretty smart - Shep here probably knows commands verbally and with gestures. Been used as guards, companions, pets… police, too.”

 

Like humans unused to dogs, Doctor Mikon’s first scratch was too light; Shep snorted, and started to scratch behind her ear. That prompted a chuckle from the doctor. “Interesting animal. Yes, Jaime, she can stay-”

 

A woman burst in at that moment, a red-and-black dog harness in her hands. “Oh, thank God,” she breathed, spotting Jaime and Shep. “She got out of the crate, and we figured she’d come here, but--”

 

“Hi Mama,” Jaime called cheerfully. “Shep found me, and she likes Doctor Mikon, and he said she can stay--”

 

Vega slipped out. He had to tell Shepard about her namesake.

 


	2. Post-War Service Dogs

 

In the wake of the Crucible, hospitals weren’t able to keep all the different races in separate wards: there just wasn’t space. So when the Wounded Warrior program brought in the dogs, the turians got an introduction to just how different life was on Earth.

 

Rinthos’d been on one of the cots when the dogs had first been brought in. His hearing was gone, so he hadn’t gotten any warning when something looking like varren with fur walked past his cot. The dog had only looked at him patiently when he’d recoiled, while his human handler helped Rinthos back onto the bed.

 

Using omnitools to spell things out was a little laborious, but he’d learned that the dog was there to help and possibly be paired with a human soldier as a living assistance bot of sorts, and the handler’s name was Liz, and the dog’s name was Rigel.

 

“So these dogs help people?” he said, hoping his voice wasn’t too loud. The ringing in his ears hadn’t gone away, and doctors said that it probably wouldn’t until he got cybernetics that would replace his hearing.

 

Liz’s response was put into text by his omnitool. “Yes. We train them depending on what their partner will need; some dogs can act as mobility assistance, others can help with flashbacks. Besides, humans need the comfort of someone who doesn’t, who can’t, judge them for feeling bad. And the fact that they’re nice to pet doesn’t hurt. Here, let me show you.”

 

She took his hand, holding it in front of Rigel’s nose to sniff, then she pointed at the cot. Rigel jumped up next to Rinthos and curled up. Liz moved Rinthos’ hand to the dog’s head. “Scratch gently behind his ears, or rub his belly.” 

 

Rinthos could feel the dog leaning into his scratches, and the vibration of a grunt, but the way the dog’s eyes were closed seemed to show he was happy, rather than in pain, so he tentatively brought his other hand up to rub the dog’s belly. One hind leg flopped. Flopped again. Rinthos pulled away, looking at Liz.

 

Liz was no help -- she was on the floor, laughing. Rinthos’ mandibles swung in close, and he hunched his head into his cowl until he felt Rigel’s head settle on his leg, a warm weight, and Liz finally got her mirth under control. “Sorry,” she said, “Your expression was funny. Rigel kicks that foot when you scratch a particularly itchy spot -- it’s good, not bad.”

 

Rinthos nodded, playing with Rigel’s ears. They were floppy, covered in short, dark fur, and they had an extraordinary amount of movement. Right now, they were flopped forward, twitching every time Rinthos tried to speak. “Do they understand what you say?” he asked Liz, and Rigel tilted his head, ears swinging forwards, a wrinkle forming on the top of his head. 

 

Liz just gestured to the dog. “They don’t have translators, but they hear better than humans do, so they might hear more of your subvocals. Humans tend to think they understand everything we say, and they love us anyway.” She paused, tilting her head in an odd echo of the dog as she looked at him. “Would you be interested in training with him?”

 

It was better than sitting around waiting, so he agreed.

 

* * *

 

 

He’d been transferred out of the hospital, and issued a room in a pre-fab building with a number of other recovering soldiers with their dogs. He was the only turian, but there was a sense of solidarity with their little group: they were all working together, they’d all fought and bled together, and they all had dogs. They were mostly human, but there was an asari huntress who had lost a leg just below the knee who was working with a yellow version of Rigel, and a salarian who was dealing with combat flashbacks who had a small gray dog with a lot of curly fur.

 

“She listens,” the salarian said of his dog. “And doesn’t interrupt. She can tell when I’m stuck in a memory. Salarians might process emotions faster, but our memories-” He tapped one aural horn. “-can be tricky. Not as bad as drell, of course. She knows how to wait and find ways to pull me out of the memory. Different sensory experiences.”

 

Rigel slept beside Rinthos’ nest, and more than once, he’d woken from a nightmare to Rigel licking his face, the light turned on low. He also helped warn Rinthos of people coming up behind him, and people trying to get his attention in general. Rigel also listened.

 

The asari huntress, Saalia, was about two hundred, and was often found throwing a ball for her dog to fetch during designated play times. “She makes me laugh,” Saalia said, watching Abby grab the ball and gallumph back towards them. “A creature who is able to empathize and share what I feel without demanding anything from me, and who can still be playful and silly? I need that.” She paused, looking down at the short-term prosthetic. “And until I can get this replaced, she can fetch things faster than I can. My biotics aren’t reliable right now.” Rinthos could read between the lines: stress, and combat-tuned reflexes, were not good for finely manipulating things.

 

The humans were watching the aliens and dogs interact with interest. It was a common point for all of them, and one that wasn’t tied in with the war. “I grew up with dogs,” said Mikkelsson, “Even in cities, people needed company.” He leaned over and rumpled his dog’s fur, earning a doggy grin. He pulled up a picture of his family, with a stocky, broad-chested dog being hugged by three kids. “We had a pit bull growing up. In the early 21st century, they got a bad reputation as fighting dogs, but people learned.”

 

Rinthos found he preferred Rigel’s expressive face and ears, the long muzzle, and the long tail (despite losing more than one glass to an overenthusiastic sweep of it). Though Rigel didn’t need much brushing, Rinthos found it soothing to sit outside and run his talons through the dog’s short hair. He could breathe then. The ringing wasn’t so loud.


	3. Search and Rescue Puppy

_ 8 weeks old… _

 

When Sorgin returned from patrolling, he was cradling something in the crook of his arm, the space between his aural horns creased. Predus recoiled as a small, furry thing was deposited on his stack of datapads, pointing at it. “What,” the turian demanded, “is  _ that _ ?”

 

The fluffy thing took a clumsy step forward, opened its mouth, and started to gnaw on Predus’ armored glove.

 

The krogan they’d booked on trespassing (attempts to eat non-existent fish in the Presidium’s lakes) charges snorted. “Doesn’t lack courage, at least.”

 

It was still gnawing his glove, so Predus considered it. Lifting his hand, the fluffy thing came with it, dangling from the desk as its fluffy fifth appendage waved from side to side. “Too big to be a space hamster,” he noted, poking its belly with a stylus. It yelped and let go of his hand, landing on the desk again with a dismayed squeak. “Kinda looks like a fluffy varren pup.”

 

Sorgin edged away from his desk. “Not my problem anymore. It was on the edge of Zakera Ward, making the  _ worst _ noises.”

 

As if this were a cue, the fluffy thing sat down on the datapad-pile and began to squeak. Then it began to howl. There were undertones to it that made Predus’ mandibles clench close defensively. “How did you get it to stop?”

 

Sorgin was gone, the coward, leaving him with this screaming fluffy varren. It was still yipping as if the world were going to end if something weren’t done. “Oh, for the spirits’ sake,” Predus grumbled, and picked the fluffy thing up, setting it in his cowl, like he would for his nephew, before he got to his feet. 

 

The krogan snickered. “C-Sec’s dignity, out the window.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” The fluffy thing had settled back down. It had little claws on four of its appendages, not overly sharp, but enough to feel. “Artemsia, I’m going to go find out what and whose this is,” he called to a coworker, who blinked at the sight of him with the fluffy thing in his cowl.

 

Her mandibles fluttered in amusement, and her stance opened up, jutting her hip out a bit. “Sure. Never took you for good with babies. I’ll have to remember that.”

 

“It could just be a giant space-hamster, you never know.”

 

Zakera Ward’s C-Sec office had a decent number of humans in its main office. The thing was fluffy, and fluffy tended to mean human-related (no-one really knew about quarians). A short trip got him more than a few stares.

 

“What’n hell are you doing with a puppy, Sorkasian?” Bailey was his usual blunt self, but his hands as he picked up the fluffy thing were gentle.

 

“Is that what it is? One of my patrollers found it-” The puppy, removed from its warm cradle, started to cry again. “-doing that earlier on the edge of your ward.” Predus almost reached out to grab the little thing again -- just to stop the squalling, he told himself -- but Bailey reached into a drawer and pulled out something that vaguely resembled food, and offered it to the puppy.

 

The crying stopped, and Predus got to see the sharp little teeth again. “It’s a baby dog. Humans have kept ‘em for thousands of years as help and pets.” Bailey gave Predus a sharp look, then handed the food over, along with the puppy. “It’s hungry. Feed it. I’ve gotta finish this shit.”

 

Feeding the puppy was rather like feeding a baby turian. Unlike humans, the puppy didn’t bother to chew much, just gulped the chunks of white grainy stuff and meat down. Predus sat down nearby, removing his gloves to tear smaller chunks to give to the puppy. Now that it was out of his cowl, not whining, and identified, he could take a closer look at it.

 

It was about as big as his hand from wrist to fingertip, with soft yellow-white fur and sharply-pointed ears. It had a round belly and paws that were a little too big for its legs, and a sharply-pointed snout. “What are you doing on the Citadel, hmm?” he rumbled at it, and it looked at him curiously.

 

Bailey dropped into a chair beside him, and the puppy flapped its fifth appendage at him before waddling over. “Probably smuggled in. Looks like one of the spitz breeds,” he remarked, then hastily put the puppy on the floor. It squatted, and a yellow puddle formed under it. It looked mildly dismayed. “... probably around eight or ten weeks. Not housetrained.”

 

Predus pulled a gun-cleaning rag out of a storage compartment on his armor, dropping it on the spot. Bailey gave him an amused look. “I have nephews,” Predus explained awkwardly.

 

“Nice to know that babies are the same no matter their species,” was all Bailey said. “Okay. Here’s a list of what you’ll need to take care of it.” He handed him a datapad. “Dogs are carnivores, more like you guys than humans, so meat paste plus some supplements should be good enough. Levo, though, not dextro.” Bailey nudged the puppy onto its back with his toe, then nodded. “She’ll need to go out pretty often to take care of business. There’re two veterinarians in Zakera Ward - they’re rare, but they’re around.”

 

Predus took the datapad automatically, distracted by the puppy trying to get to its feet again. It flopped onto his boot and promptly fell asleep, and that distraction made it possible for Bailey to disappear, leaving Predus with a list, a dog, and no idea of how he’d gotten stuck with this job.

 

* * *

 

His apartment wasn’t a place he spent much time, really. It still had the default furniture, nothing on the walls, and he hadn’t bothered to get shades for the windows. Puppy had explored most of it, peed on some parts, and was a fluffy lump atop a ripped shirt Predus had sacrificed to her needs. Now, he was browsing the extranet, looking up information on dogs.

 

The human sections of the extranet were filled with pictures of all sorts of dogs, some as big as a turian when they stood up, some smaller than Puppy when full grown. He had a datapad, and mumbled as he took notes. “Canis lupus familiaris, descended from wolves. Millenia-old breeding experiment…” 

 

He looked at the fluffy lump again. Still sleeping. Good.

 

He was halfway through what dogs were taught to do when he felt a weight settle on his foot. Puppy was asleep on his boot, shirt partway under her, as though she’d dragged it along with her, and her butt was in the air. There was a little snore coming from her.

 

“Fine. You can stay.”

 

* * *

 

Far too early, he felt a cool tongue licking his left mandible. Apparently, dogs had no idea of what was appropriate and what wasn’t -- Predus nearly jumped out of his covers before landing on the floor, face-down.

 

With a groan, he turned his head to see Puppy crouched beside him, her rear end in the air, tail wagging, and her tongue lolling out of her mouth. She yapped at him and batted his exasperatedly-flicked mandible with a paw. “I’m up, I’m up,” he grunted at her, which prompted another fluffy of puppy-yapping. “Shh.”

 

He didn’t have a collar, but he could improvise, finding a bit of string and making a loop. Some of the pictures had shown the dogs wearing clothes, but Puppy was fluffy enough to not need them, right? He hummed absently as he knotted the rope, making sure it wouldn’t choke her.

 

When he put the makeshift collar and leash on her, she rolled over onto her back, all four paws up, eyes closed. “Really, you’re refusing to move?”

 

Puppy opened one eye, saw he was watching her, and squinched it shut again.

 

“Fine.” Predus leaned over, scooped her up, and carried her out the door.

 

One of the advantages to his apartment was that he was close to a park, so when his sister dropped off his nephews, they could play. It also meant plant areas, and Puppy, once seeing the outside light, scrabbled to be let down, trying to bolt for the nearest patch of silvery Palaven grass to squat. “ _ Good _ girl,” he said. 

 

The leash pulled in his hand, and he looked back to find Puppy gnawing on the string, growling and twisting her head back and forth. He gave the leash an experimental tug, and she tugged back. “No, Puppy. We need to take you to the canine doctor. No pulling.”

 

She gave the string another experimental gnaw, watching him to see his reaction, before she dropped it and crouched over.

 

And that was when Predus realized one terrible thing: he’d forgotten a bag.

 

* * *

 

_ 8-9 weeks old... _

 

Customs and Imports wanted nothing to do with Puppy beyond scanning it and entering details into the Citadel database before waving tentacles and saying, “This one cannot help you further.”

 

Predus suspected it was because Puppy was trying to pounce on the hanar’s tentacles, but he wasn’t going to argue.

 

When he got back to his office, he found a nest of the type traveling turian parents used on trips -- soft-sided walls with a comfortable bottom cushion and a place to secure blankets through the handles -- set beside his desk, and a smug-looking Artemsia perched on the edge of it. He looked at her, then at the nest, then back at her, and she flicked a mandible in amusement. “My sister runs the baby store on level 10. I asked her if she had anything she could donate to a good cause.”

 

There was a dip in the cushioned walls for a turian child to rest their head upon while looking out, and Puppy made straight for the opening. The two turians watched as she waddled into the nest, turned around a few times and started to dig in one spot. “No, Puppy--” Predus began, but stopped as Puppy huffed and flopped down in the spot, rested her jaw on the dip, and seemed to fall asleep. “Er. Well.” He reached down to check that the puppy was still breathing, and if his fingers brushed behind Puppy’s ears, well, that was just convenient.  “Thank you,” he said, straightening up. “I can’t keep putting her in my cowl.”

 

“Too bad,” Artemsia teased, “It made you look pretty fatherly there.”

 

Whatever he was about to say cut off with a slight click as he stared at his fellow officer.

 

She simply laughed at him and then bent down to pet Puppy, who woke up just enough to shuffle around and end up with her belly exposed, all four paws pointed to the ceiling. “Not too different from any baby, it’d seem,” Artemsia said fondly. “Just fuzzy.”

 

That set the tone for the next week. Sorgin remained as far away from Predus’ desk as possible, wincing whenever Puppy woke and started yelping, Artemsia took Puppy when Predus had to patrol, and the rest of the precinct offered theories and the fruits of their research into terran canines at random intervals.

 

He came back from a patrol to find a group of turians clustered around Artemsia’s desk, the sound of a video playing on someone’s omnitool escaping the wall of bodies as they shifted to see better. When he craned his neck to see, he saw old terran-style 2d footage of a brown and black dog launching itself after a fleeing human. Seconds later, the human was down and the dog was standing guard over him. 

 

“Police dog Eko is trained to temper his bite to the suspect’s aggression, and release on command..” The voiceover earned a fascinated collective sigh, but a yip from Puppy, who’d scented Predus, caused everyone to turn and Artemsia to amusedly turn off the vid broadcast. 

 

Puppy was cradled in Camdus’ cowl instead of in her nest, but managed to get to the floor and wiggle her way over to trip over his armored boot and stare up adoringly.

 

Camdus shook his head. “I wonder if we can tell whoever comes to pick her up that she’s been seized for neglectful treatment,” he said, “The humans use the dogs for security work. Tracking drugs, suspects, detaining suspects, practically anything you can think of. And they’re  _ fast _ .”

 

Scooping Puppy up, Predus deposited her in his cowl. She was already bigger than a week ago; she wouldn’t fit there much longer. “I think she’s got to be a bit older for that.” He couldn’t help the pang of discomfort when he thought of someone claiming Puppy, and some of that must’ve leaked into his subvocals, for the other officers gave him somewhat sympathetic looks. He cleared his throat. “Besides-”

 

“-we’ll have to find her a new home; she was intended to go on to Horizon, that human colony, it seems.” Their supervisor left his office, shutting down a vidcall. “I’ll put a word in to Zakera Ward’s precinct in case one of the humans there-”

 

“I’ll take her.” The words burst from his throat before Predus could stop them. Puppy licked his mandible before settling back to sleep. “I mean… I’ve gotten used to her.”

 

Camdus cocked his head to the side, mandibles held in a smirk. “Guess we might get our police dog after all.”

 

* * *

 

_ 4 months old... _

 

“Training. She’s not a baby, she’s a dog. They need training pretty early on.” Bailey’s gruff rumble was softened slightly by the fact that he was scratching behind Puppy’s ears, and Puppy was thumping one rear paw against the floor.

 

“We’ve been watching vids on how to train, but they’re all talking about advanced things.” Splaying his hands palm-upwards, Predus sighed.

 

Bailey leaned back in his chair to rummage in a drawer. “Figured this might come up,” he said, pulling out a small plastic object and a bag that rustled. “Here. First thing you work on is positive associations. Whenever she’s focused on you and you notice it, click this and immediately give her one of these.” He pulled out some dried levo meat out of the bag and showed it to Predus. “It’ll show her that if she pays attention to you, she gets nice things. The click’ll eventually get associated with the nice things, and it’s faster than giving her a treat.”

 

“So, not like a drill instructor?” Predus asked, “No alpha or, uh, pack dynamics?” 

 

“Christ, son, you been watching that shit from the start of last century? Two-dee stuff?” 

 

He nodded awkwardly. “It was all we could really find on the turian net that seemed to be well-structured?”

 

“Forget that shit. I’m not gonna judge if you yell at her once or twice, but dogs who get hit don’t learn, they just submit. Makes ‘em less likely to actually remember shit.” Bailey held up a hand with a treat held between two fingers. “Pup.” He clicked his tongue, catching Puppy’s attention. He moved the treat above her head, towards her back, and she followed the motion, sitting back on her haunches. “Sit,” Bailey said firmly, and the moment her tail hit the floor, he gave her the treat. “ _ Good _ sit.”

 

* * *

 

Prey drive was something turians were extremely familiar with. It was, in part, why everyone served in the Hierarchy: when turians hit teenage years, they needed to focus that instinct, and military service gave them the tools to do so in a controlled environment.

 

Therefore, when Puppy hit what was essentially her teenage years, the officers of Predus’ ward could often be found sacrificing dignity on the altar of training.

 

He watched Puppy circle around his desk again, hunting for her favorite rope-toy. Artemsia was hiding it in a under her foot under the desk, but that was part of the game: Puppy no longer got to see where the toy was put before being sent to find it. She had to find it from the reactions of those around her and that nose of hers.

 

Artemsia shifted slightly in her chair, and Puppy looked over at her inquisitively. The turian pulled back in feigned shock and shifted her foot just a little bit, and Puppy bounded over, nails ticking against the floor, snuffling deeply before pouncing upon the toy. Artemsia picked up the other end and slid her chair back, leaning forward to play tug with the steadily-growing pup. 

 

Puppy was out of the roly-poly puppy stage and into the gawkily unfinished stage, standing perhaps up to Predus’ knee spurs at the top of her head, and about as long as she was tall. She brought her toy over to Predus, tail curved over her back in triumphant declaration as she dropped the toy at his feet and gave him a doggy grin, jaw dropped and eyes fixed on his face.

 

“Too bad there’s no military for you here, Puppy. You’d be picked out for SPECTRE in a heartbeat, wouldn’t you?” Camdus crouched next to Puppy to wiggle the end of the toy at her, the pup pouncing upon it with a mock-growl. 

 

Artemsia hummed low in her throat, the amused vibrations of it turning both the men’s heads. “Actually,” she said, “I’ve heard some interesting rumours over the past few months…”

 

* * *

 

_ 9 months old... _

 

When Zakera Ward heard that Predus was keeping Puppy, there was a general outcry from the humans about fairness. It only died down when several Alliance Drug Enforcement Agency handlers arrived on-site with their canine partners and began working with C-Sec to track down Red Sand shipments that even a krogan’s nose couldn’t detect.

 

“We used to use force-based training a century or two ago,” one handler said as she was playing tug-of-war with her partner after they’d located a cargo container with false walls packed full of drugs, “but dogs don’t make good connections between ‘I did this thing badly’ and ‘I got punished’, so we tend to focus on showing the dog that if they do this, they get to play.”

 

“That’s what Commander Bailey said.” He set his omnitool to record the conversation, then coughed slightly to catch the handler’s attention. “I … actually have a dog. She was abandoned here, and-- well, long story short, I need to talk to a trainer.”

 

The handler turned to stare at him, then visibly shook herself and grinned, that broad flare of teeth that on turians might be a threat. “A turian with a dog. Sounds like the start of a bad joke.” She let go of her end of the toy and the dog laid down at her feet, gnawing contentedly. “First off, do you know what breed she is?”

 

Predus pulled up his folder of pictures of Puppy. “Commander Bailey said something about spitting?” he said, then displayed one of the latest still images of Puppy, caught in a rare moment of standing still, her tail arched over her back and ears pricked up. 

 

“Spitz. It’s a group of dog breeds,” the handler explained, looking at the image more closely. “They’re usually working breeds -- lots of focus. Ice here-” She gestured down at her dog. “-is what we’d call a German Shepherd Dog; they’re probably one of the most common police dogs, and they’re related to the spitz family. Looks like you might have one of the Asian variants of the spitz, or a mix thereof. Any trouble with her?”

 

“Just that she chews on things, really. I’ve been trying to follow some of the vids out there for training dogs, and she understands ‘sit’ and a few other commands in turian,” he explained in a rush, feeling absurdly proud of Puppy’s progress. “It seems like she wants to do more, but I don’t know enough to train her properly. ”

 

The handler studied him for a moment, then flicked her fingers, sending an omnitool message with her contact details. “Looking at her, that sounds about right. About six to eight months old now?” She looked down at Ice, who’d abandoned his toy and was staring up at her. “Look. I can’t make any promises, but we can run through the basic evaluation for service dog training. My boss’ll laugh his ass off-” Predus tapped his translator. Idioms were always awkward. “-but this is the first chance the Alliance has gotten to really show off our working animals division and that means outreach programs.” She grinned up at him. “Long as you don’t mind being a bit of a PR stunt, we can probably get you two trained up for something.”

 

* * *

 

 

One of the gifts a Zakera Ward officer’d brought was a harness and leash in bright red, so Puppy trotted alongside Predus as they headed for the park space the handler -- Kim, he had to remember the name -- had suggested they meet at. 

 

He remembered the first time he’d put the harness on her, and she’d flopped onto her back, paws in the air, and refused to move. She’d gotten used to it now, but the initial panic about having hurt her seemed funny in retrospect. 

 

Now, she stayed close to him, occasionally glancing up at him and matching his pace. She still had moments of puppy enthusiasm, bolting ahead, but after the first time she’d pulled the leash from his slack fingers, he’d learned about holding on. “Good girl,” he muttered down to her, and her ears pricked up.

 

The crowds cleared out as he reached the open area. Kim and Ice were standing at the edge of an asari-style fountain, and Puppy nearly lunged forwards on seeing Ice before a warning trill from him had her bumbling over her paws and landing snout-first in front of the older canine. 

 

Ice stayed where he was until a command from Kim let him sniff Puppy from tail to nose-tip while Puppy tried to do the same to Ice. “Is this normal?” Predus asked of Kim, gesturing to the two dogs.

 

“This is pretty well-mannered on both their parts. I was worried that your dog’d have some trouble, not having been socialized with others as a growing puppy, but apparently not.” Kim crouched down next to the two dogs and offered a hand to Puppy. “What’s her name?”

 

“Ah…” He rubbed just under his fringe in embarrassment. “... Puppy.” He no longer used his translator for that word, giving it just enough of a turian twist to make it distinct from the human word. “I didn’t think I was keeping her for the first week, and by the end of it, it was hard to call her anything else.”

 

Kim lifted her shoulders and let them fall in a gesture Predus’d seen from other humans. “It’s distinctive enough the way you say it.” Puppy was sniffing cautiously at her hand, tail giving a careful wag. “She might be more used to turians than humans now. That’s fine, as long as she doesn’t mind handling.” 

 

“Puppy-” Predus said, “-stay.” Puppy looked up at him, then held mostly still save for the slight wave of her tail and the shift of her focus from him to Kim as the human moved to scratch behind her ears, and pick up her paws carefully. “We worked on that. Zakera Ward’s got human C-Sec officers who’d come by pretty often, but none of them have dogs now.”

 

“Good enough. What I’m going to do is a fairly standard test of what training she’s had so far, and also assess her temperament. So far, she’s passed the friendly-stranger test, the handling test, and from what I saw of getting over here, the crowd-walking test. What else have you taught her?”

 

He explained about the training exercises his fellow C-Sec officers had come up with. “It’s… like a child’s version of some of the military exercises,” he explained, “She wants to hunt. We’re hunters.” He flared his mandibles, showing his teeth for a brief moment, and Kim recoiled before laughing at herself and nodding.

 

“She’s definitely not a lap-dog -- a comfort animal, I mean. While she could be kept as a pet--”

 

“Like a space hamster?”

 

“Sort of. The kind of dog she is, she’d do okay with just being a pet as long as you kept up the obedience training, but-”

 

Predus shook his head. “She needs a job. Everything has a purpose or  can serve in some way.” 

 

Kim laughed. “True. I was about to say that she’ll be happier working. She doesn’t have the temperament to be a general police dog, but we can test for other aptitudes.”

 

* * *

 

_ 11 months old... _

 

Two months later, Predus found himself reporting to the North American Service Dog training facility with Puppy. Kim’s superiors had pounced upon the PR opportunity, and in exchange for training Puppy, Kim and her coworkers would be remaining on the Citadel for longer.

 

Alliance HQ was on the same continent, but on the opposite coast. It was cooler than Palaven, a few degrees cooler than the Citadel was generally kept, and Predus caught himself wishing for heavier armour than the light C-Sec gear he’d brought.

 

Puppy, on the other hand, was fascinated by the new smells and the feel of Earth underfoot. She’d bolted around the fenced-in area with the other dogs on their introductory session -- Predus had been told it was another test of her temperament, and she’d passed.

 

Now, they were standing on the packed earth of the indoor arena. He felt more than a little ridiculous holding onto the frayed rope toy that was Puppy’s favorite -- this was serious training, not play-time -- but the woman with a grey fringe (hair, he told himself, hair) began to speak.

 

“We are all at somewhat different points of training with our dogs, but the first rule remains the same for all of us:  _ trust the dog _ . They rely on you for confidence and reassurance; if you don’t trust them, they won’t trust themselves and they’ll lose their love for the work.. Officer Sorkasian, welcome to Earth. I’m Corporal Mary Galloway of the United North American States Police.” She had to tip her head back to look at him, and her eyes were slightly narrowed. That sharp gaze softened a bit as she looked back down to Puppy, currently seated at Predus’ feet, tongue lolling out the side of her mouth and attention flicking between the two of them.

 

“We appreciate the opportunity to learn to serve,” he said. “Officer Kim recommended pursuing the Search and Rescue program here based on Puppy’s aptitude for, uh… hide and seek. She said she had a high play drive and a high prey drive.” He felt absurdly proud about this.

 

“Good. We train police dogs, but there’re very few Search and Rescue dogs trained these days. People tend to trust in scanners and mechanical things rather than an animal’s instincts.” Some of the tension left Corporal Galloway’s shoulders. “My family’s been doing S’n’R dog training for generations now. Here’s what we’re going to do…”

 

* * *

 

 

_ 14 months old... _

 

Puppy leaped a broken piece of rebar and landed neatly on the other side, ducked through a broken glass window-frame, and disappeared into a dark opening. Predus scrambled after her, trying to ignore the scent of decay and wood-rot that rose up around him. 

 

A landfill, he’d been told, was the best training place for a Search and Rescue dog outside of field experience. Since he couldn’t wish for a disaster to train Puppy, a landfill it had to be. He just wished it didn’t come with such a stink.

 

Puppy’s sharp yap echoed out of the hole, followed by a human girl’s laughter and praise. She’d found one of the targets, it seemed. “Puppy,  _ come _ .” 

 

Wiggling out of the hole, Puppy dropped her toy at his feet and looked up at him expectantly. “Good girl. Puppy,  _ seek. _ ” 

 

She bounded off again into the rain and mud, and he sighed. He understood, now, why many of the handlers tended to have brown or black dogs: a white dog was a hazard in a muddy site. He helped the human girl out of the hole. “She’s doing great,” the girl told him, watching Puppy investigating another crevice in the mess of construction waste. “Maybe she’ll move on to small object searches next.” 

 

He hadn’t realized, when he’d shown up, just how involved this training could be. A full year of work with Puppy, and then maintaining the training every week, but--

 

\--it was worth it. If they’d had some of the dogs on the Citadel after Sovereign, the death toll would’ve been lower. People would’ve been found earlier, not hidden by the geth ship’s wreckage and its scanner-foiling emissions. 

 

Puppy looked back at him, checking in, and he lifted a hand to signal her onwards. Every minute of it was worth the effort.

 

* * *

 

 

_ 2 years old... _

 

When he’d started training Puppy, it’d been out of the desire to give her something to do; turians were  _ good _ at structure, and all the vids’d told him structure was important for dogs. Humans seemed startled when they realized that their ancestral partnership with canines could be understood by turians, but he’d put in the time at various training facilities on Earth, getting Puppy certified by multiple organizations, and he’d proven himself at various disaster sites doing so.

 

He hadn’t expected it to save his own life. He’d been on Earth when the Reapers hit instead of on the Citadel.

 

And now, the rubble of the Citadel was scattered all around him, overcast skies casting everything in flat greys, and the splashes of colour were nothing he wanted to look at: human red, turian blue, the oranges and purples of the other Council races’ blood mingled with the black of Reaper troops, all fallen in the wake of the war.

 

Puppy was one of the few ‘safe’ spots of colour in the scene, wearing her red and blue Search and Rescue vest over her cream fur. She was calmly focused, watching him. “Spirits preserved us, hmm, Pup?” he asked, and her curved tail waved gently. “Let’s see who we can find today.” He tapped his comm. “Sorkasian starting sweep of grid F3.”

 

“Acknowledged, Sorkasian. Good luck.” 

 

He turned off his translation program and exhaled before giving Puppy a nod. “Seek,” he told her, and she ranged out, snuffling deeply. 

 

She ducked beneath a chunk of brick and plaster for a moment, and he heard a sound all too familiar these past few days: a sad whine-howl that he echoed with a keen. A body, again. He left a locator beacon on the spot, and moved onwards. This was definitely a day where he’d have to set up a live find for Puppy, if this continued: the dog’s tail was held down, her normally-pricked ears turned sideways and drooping slightly, and her gait had flattened as she slunk out of the crevices created by Reaper beams and falling debris.

 

* * *

 

 

There’d been no living in the day’s search.

 

Puppy was disconsolate as they made their way back to the barracks, her head down and her tail low, avoiding looking back at him. Funny how some body language was universal: turians did much the same thing, particularly with gaze.

 

“I need a volunteer for a live-find,” he announced to the room, drawing all eyes. Some new faces today, including a large human in sturdy Alliance armor.

 

“I’ll do it. Lieutenant James Vega. Never thought I’d see a turian with a SAR dog.”

 

“Corporal Predus Sorkasian, C-Sec. Well. I was. There were two other turian handlers coming through training, but-” Predus flung an arm out wide, the exhaustion making the gesture sloppy. Puppy looked up for a moment, but put her head on her paws once again a moment later, staring off into the distance.

 

Vega looked down at the dog and crouched next to her. “Yeah, the war got to all of us. Aftermath’s almost worse, hey, pup?”

 

She just flicked an ear at him before Predus pulled her favorite toy out of a storage compartment on his armour and passed it over. “Head out within a 100-meter radius and find somewhere to hide. Praise her a lot when she finds you, let her tug on the toy.”

 

“Gotcha.” The big man vanished out the door, and Predus gave him three minutes’ lead before clicking to get Puppy’s attention. She picked herself up with a drawn-out sigh, and they both headed back out into the drizzling rain.

 

“Puppy,  _ seek _ .” He pointed her towards a likely-looking pile of rubble that they’d already scanned. She put her nose down, sniffing, and her tail came up just a touch as she picked up the Lieutenant’s scent. 

 

Through the rubble, around the edge of a shattered building, and past a few tangled pieces of Alliance shuttles mixed with Citadel debris, and Puppy’s attention was caught. She scrambled through a gap and headed down some cracked stairs into what might’ve once been a tavern (the thought was confirmed by the shattered bottles on the floor) and then ducked behind an ancient wooden bar. Her excited bark was followed by the Lieutenant’s laugh as he stood and offered the toy over, swinging the dog around when she latched on. “Good girl, y’found me!  _ Que listo eres, eh?”  _

 

Puppy danced happily, if carefully, around the big human, her head and her tail held high once again, toy clenched firmly in her mouth. Lieutenant Vega tugged once or twice more at the toy, then gave her a quick, friendly pat.

 

“Thanks, I owe you one,” Predus admitted, feeling the weight ease on his shoulders. 

 

The Lieutenant hesitated a moment. Predus’d gotten good enough at reading humans since acquiring Puppy that he braced himself for the request, but when it came, it was enough of a shock that he stood gape-mandibled for a moment.

 

“I need you to find Commander Shepard.”


End file.
